Stones

Synopsis

The harsh fluorescent light flickers as Torb wrestles with a stubborn keycard, his calloused farmer’s hands ill-suited for the sleek plastic.

Torb, a grizzled cherry farmer with dirt still under his nails, stumbles into a sterile hotel room, clutching a bottle of maraschino cherries like a talisman against the encroaching future. Hot on his heels is Rad, all crisp lines and calculated charm, armed with PowerPoint presentations and promises of progress. As the night deepens and the cherry liqueur flows, these unlikely bedfellows dance a tango of tradition versus innovation, their verbal sparring crackling with unspoken desire and mutual fascination.

Nick Bruckman’s Stones is a heady cocktail of agricultural angst and sexual tension, shaken vigorously and served neat. Through Torb’s impassioned rants about “getting your hands sticky” and Rad’s seductive whispers of market expansion, the play excavates the soul of a changing world. The humble maraschino cherry becomes a battlefield where artisanal pride clashes with corporate efficiency, and long-held traditions face the relentless march of technology. As clothes loosen and inhibitions fade, Bruckman asks: in a world of automated harvests and artificially colored fruit, what truly gives life its flavour?